It's Just Food Poisoning
by LJConnelly
Summary: Ever wonder just what Beckett was experiencing during Dirty Martini? Now's your chance to find out. Includes new scenes and a whole lot of vivid imagery - not for the faint of stomach! Rated T just to be safe.  Please see author's notes!
1. It's Messy

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: First of all, I want to thank those of you that were brave enough to read this before I posted it, and then to go so far as to **_**encourage **_**me to put it online! That being said, I want to be VERY clear, that I do not intend any violation of the terms of use. I read them over and over inside out and backwards trying to figure out if an alternate version counted as the "same material" or a "unique story." I figure the fact that the narration is entirely different and there are several new scenes in this version qualify it as "unique" even though most of the dialogue is the same. Either way, I wrote both versions. If anyone thinks my interpretation is wrong and I am in violation, PLEASE just say so and I'll take it down. **_**Anyway...**_** thanks for all your interest in this version – I am still terrified to put this up, but most readers have liked it, so... here it is! I will just say, it is **_**very**_** descriptive so... weak stomachs, beware. Okay. I hope you like it! Happy reading!**

Beckett's phone rang, slowly dragging her out of sleep. Barely conscious of the phone ringing, the first thing she became aware of was that she didn't feel very well. Slowly, she woke up and picked up the phone.

"Beckett," she said, rubbing her eyes sleepily. Her stomach churned as she sat up.

"Murder on 95th and Lex," said Montgomery, wasting no time on such formalities as 'Good morning, Detective.' "We just got an anonymous tip. CSU is on their way."

"I'll be right there, Captain," said Beckett. She swallowed, realizing she felt like throwing up. "Anything else?" she asked.

"It's messy," said Montgomery, then disconnected.

Beckett tossed her phone onto the nightstand and moved quickly to the bathroom. She pulled her hair back and got on her knees as her body started heaving, but to her frustration, nothing came up. She stayed in the bathroom for a few minutes, but she still didn't get sick. Giving up for the moment, she left the bathroom. Wondering if she'd come down with the flu, Beckett dug a thermometer out from a box under a stack of other boxes and checked her temperature. It was only 98.4._ No fever,_ she thought._ Must just be something I ate._ Even thinking about food made her want to be sick. She put the thermometer back in the box and stared at her clothes.

While she was trying to decide what to wear, yet wishing she could just stay in her pajamas, she picked her phone up and called Castle. She knew he liked the especially grotesque murders, and he had become something of an asset in solving cases – especially since Beckett could tell she was going to need all the help she could get with this case today. She told him concisely about the murder, then hung up. Talking only made her feel like gagging.

She threw on black slacks and heels, a grey turtleneck, and her long red coat, then looked at the cabinets and thought briefly about food. _No way,_ she decided, then took the stairs to the parking garage and drove to the crime scene. Even as she drove, Beckett thought more than once about pulling over, but she pushed through the all-consuming nausea and kept driving. By the time she arrived at the crime scene, her stomach was churning so violently she feared the others would _hear _it. She swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and walked out of the car.

Castle had just arrived as well, carrying coffee. On any other day, she would have gladly taken it at that hour, but not today. She could hardly imagine drinking water, let alone coffee. She shook her head vaguely, holding up her hand to show him she didn't want it. Looking bewildered, Castle walked pointedly toward the body instead.

Lanie presented the victim, and when Beckett asked about cause of death, she suggested blunt force trauma. Even though Beckett's insides were churning like a washing machine, she couldn't overlook the fact that the victim had been violently mangled, as if someone had very inexpertly cut her open. If _that_ wasn't the cause of death, Beckett wanted a better look at what was, so she knelt down to try and see the head trauma.

Unfortunately, she moved too quickly, making her head spin slightly and sending her writhing stomach over the edge. The smell of a freshly disembowelled body didn't help much either. She stood up even faster than she had knelt down, and scanned the surrounding area for somewhere... there was nowhere exactly private, but there was at least an open garbage can a few meters away. "Excuse me," she said to Lanie and Castle, then walked as quickly as she could towards the garbage can, gathering up her hair as she walked. She made it just in time, although when she finally got sick she still didn't bring up much. She heaved, unable to breathe for what seemed like far too long, finally bringing up a small mouthful of vomit. Her stomach ached as she threw up, and it wasn't until she finished that she realized she had been gripping the rim of the garbage can so tightly her knuckles had gone white. Yet for all the effort she felt completely unsatisfied. She knew there was more in her stomach. She wanted to just throw it all up and get it over with – even if she _was_ in the wide open, in the middle of New York City, getting violently sick at an active crime scene like some squeamish rookie.

Just then, Castle approached her, looking concerned. "Are you alright?" he asked.

Beckett stood up and put her hair behind her ears, hoping to scrap together a few shreds of dignity. "I'm fine," she said.

"You don't look fine," said Castle. Beckett was certain he was right. She could almost _feel_ her face draining of colour, and she hoped against hope there was no vomit in her hair. "Why did you even come in if you're sick?" Castle asked.

"I don't have—" Beckett paused, swallowing. She could feel the rest of the contents of her stomach fighting to come up, and she didn't want to put Castle into any more awkward of a situation than the one he was already in. More than that, she didn't want to admit to him how sick she was. "—a fever," she finished, recalling the readout on her thermometer. For what little that was worth, it was true. If nothing else, at least she wouldn't have to worry about getting _him_ sick.

"You sure?" Castle asked.

"I'm sure," said Beckett. "I think it's just food pois—" she tried to tell him 'food poisoning,' but got no further. Her words caught in her throat and she grabbed the edge of the garbage can with both hands, finally vomiting up all the food in her stomach. It strained her muscles and burned her throat, but it was almost gratifying to feel everything that had been writing and churning inside of her finally come up. She was also vaguely aware of Castle's arm on her back – he had pulled back her hair when she started to get sick again.

"Food poisoning?" he asked, finishing her train of thought.

"Yeah," said Beckett, straightening her back. She wanted to thank him for holding her hair, but it seemed like the sort of thing she should be telling him after a night of one too many drinks – not that she would ever have a night like that with Castle – but certainly not at a crime scene. Oh God, the crime scene. She _was_ still there, after all.

"You gonna be okay?" Castle asked her. He handed her a tissue, which she gratefully accepted and wiped her mouth with. She wished she had a glass of water, but that would have to wait. She nodded, swallowing and trying to ignore the bitter taste in her mouth.

"Thanks," she said, tossing the tissue in the trash and trying to redirect her attention to the crime scene. "Okay. Let's go see about the body."

Lanie looked Beckett up and down with that piercing understanding that only a best friend could accomplish. "You okay?"

"Fine. You were saying?"

Lanie shook her head, incredulous at Beckett's ability to compartmentalize to a fault. "Just that I'll need to get her down to the lab. And get you down to bed! What are you doing coming in to work and then throwin' up in a trash can?"

It _was _a little ridiculous, Beckett had to admit. But she was in charge of the case, and she wasn't about to shirk her duty, even if she wasn't feeling well. Besides, _she didn't have a fever._ That settled it. "I'm sure it's just something I ate," she reassured Lanie. She immediately regretted even mentioning food. "Let's get back to the station."

Castle rode with her back to the precinct, but he was uncharacteristically quiet. Beckett was glad for this, since she was still feeling nauseous, and opening her mouth to speak only made it worse. Worse yet, she still had no water. The acrid taste of bile, mucus, and half-digested food still clung to her mouth, reminding her of exactly what had happened, and what would likely happen again if she wasn't careful.

Once they got back to the precinct, she picked up a glass of water from her desk and went straight to bathroom to rinse the taste of vomit from her mouth. As she'd nearly forgotten, this was never as easy as it seemed. There was still the burning bitterness in the far back of her throat where water couldn't reach, and no matter how she tried, spitting over and over, it wouldn't go away. When she had come as close as she figured she could get, she filled the glass and tried to drink some. She drank it a little too quickly, and almost immediately she felt sick again. She set the glass down and took a breath, waiting for the feeling of queasiness to pass. _It'll be fine_, she thought. _It's just water._

Just water was just enough. She tried to stop it, but couldn't. Covering her mouth as she doubled over, Beckett ran for a stall, slamming the door shut seconds before throwing up the water and what little food was left in her stomach. Her eyes watered, and she groaned, realizing she was going to have to start all over at getting the taste out of her mouth. Several minutes later, after futilely spitting in the sink, she wiped the smeared eyeliner from her face and went back to work. Castle was waiting for her at her desk, holding a cup of tea.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Peppermint tea," he said. "Figured it might settle your stomach a little."

Beckett wasn't sure about this, since she'd just proven to herself that she couldn't even keep down water, but she remembered hearing somewhere that peppermint was good for an upset stomach. Either way, it was sweet of him to try. "Worth a try," she said, taking the cup and tasting it warily. She sat down and stared into space, suddenly feeling very tired. It was still quite early in the morning, and she'd already worn herself out throwing up repeatedly.

"How are you feeling?" Castle asked.

"I've been better," said Beckett. _Understatement of the year._

"You sure you don't want to just go home and sleep it off?" he asked her. "I'm sure the boys can cover for a day while you get some rest."

Rest sounded good. She was so tired. Nothing sounded better than lying down and doing nothing until she felt better. "Rest won't change anything," she said anyway, knowing she wasn't feverish, and even if she was, the case wasn't going to solve itself. "It'll just take some time to get it all out of my system."

Castle didn't look particularly convinced. "Fair enough," he said, "but are you gonna be able to get any work done if you have to stop and throw up every fifteen minutes?"

_Probably not,_ Beckett thought, _but I have to try._ "It's not every fifteen minutes," she said. _More like ten, on average. _"And yes, I'll be able to get work done. I'm just... a little nauseous. It's not a big deal," she added. After all, it wasn't. She'd come to work hungover before when she was younger. This wasn't so different, if she thought about it. She'd gritted her teeth and made it through that.

She took another sip of tea. At least it tasted good, which was more than anything else that morning could say. "Thanks," she said to Castle.

"No problem," he said. "Anything I can do? For you, or the case?"

Beckett tried to re-focus. Case. They had a case. "Umm... why don't you check in with Lanie and see if she's ID'd the body or cause of death yet. I need to check in with Montgomery about a couple things."

Castle agreed, and left the precinct to go see Lanie. Beckett took another careful sip of tea and got up slowly to walk to Montgomery's office.

"Morning, Captain," she said, trying to sound cheerful. "Body's down at the morgue, and CSU is sweeping the crime scene. Did you still need me to put together that file for the D.A. on the Ryberg case?"

"Yeah, when you get to it," said Montgomery. "Our top priority is this murder, though. Ryberg is probably going to end up facing a manslaughter charge, and he's not making bail any time soon. Let's catch whoever did this to that girl first."

"Yes, sir," said Beckett. A wave of vertigo hit her, and she involuntarily reached out for Montgomery's desk to steady herself.

"Oh, and one more thing," said Montgomery. "Go home. You look like hell."

"I'll be fine, sir," said Beckett. "You know as well as I do that these first forty-eight hours are the most crucial."

"Be that as it may, you're miserable and it's all over your face. Take a sick day and come back and solve the case when you can operate at 100%. Besides, the last thing I need is you getting the rest of the force sick."

Beckett sighed. "I'm not contagious," she said, hoping this would persuade Montgomery to let her stay.

"How do you know that?"

"I don't have a fever."

"Doesn't necessarily mean you aren't contagious," Montgomery countered.

"I'm sure it's just food poisoning," Beckett insisted. "You have nothing to worry about."

"Knock yourself out, Beckett," Montgomery conceded. "But the offer stands. If you change your mind, go home. I won't hold it against you."

"Yes, sir," Beckett repeated. That settled, she went back to her desk and started typing up her report of the crime scene. She paused, tapping her fingers on the keys without actually pressing them, as she tried to decide how much detail to include. She didn't see the point of mentioning her untimely episode with the garbage can. It had nothing to do with the case, and was completely humiliating. She finally decided, somewhat against her better judgment, to leave it out completely, and hope that decision wouldn't come back to bite her.

Next she printed out a picture of the victim that CSU had emailed her, and attached it to the whiteboard, which she began to organize. There wasn't much information to include yet – just the photo and the approximate time of death. As she stared at the whiteboard brainstorming anything else she could add, the smell of the uncapped whiteboard marker made her head throb. She closed the marker and sat down, glancing at the stacks of paperwork she needed to do. Paperwork seemed like a good enough way to kill time until she got more reports from CSU or forensics. There was a lengthy affidavit for a search warrant she'd been working on the day before, until she had put it off due to a more urgent phone call. Beckett picked up where she'd left off on the affidavit, but it wasn't long before even looking at the computer made her head hurt that much worse. She closed her eyes, rubbing her temples, but it didn't help. Instead she drank a few more swallows of tea. The warmth was nice, but her stomach was still having a hard time holding anything. Beckett clenched her teeth and took a deep breath, hoping her stomach would calm down. _This is just getting ridiculous_, she thought. An hour ago she had been all too eager to hurry up and vomit already, wanting to get it over with. Only thing was, she hadn't seemed to have gotten it over with at all; instead, she had gotten so sick she couldn't _stop_ throwing up.

She really, _really_ didn't want to, but she couldn't help it. It was off to the bathroom again. Resignedly, Beckett stood up from her desk and walked to the bathroom. Just like earlier that morning, she felt her whole body starting to heave as she walked. Moments later, it was déjà vu all over again as she closed the stall door behind her and leaned over the toilet. The tightening in her chest made it hard to breathe, and the straining made her eyes water. She retched repeatedly for a few minutes, hardly bringing up anything more than the smallest droplets of stomach acid, yet her stomach ached as if it was full of expanding and contracting iron that scraped the lining of her stomach and surged upwards, pressing on her chest but refusing to come up easily. After several minutes of this, she finally gagged hard enough to bring up a mouthful of liquid – traces of tea, probably, but mostly bile.

Feeling dizzy and deprived of oxygen, Beckett grabbed on to the toilet paper dispenser, the only handhold in reach. She flinched slightly as her fingernails scraped along it, then closed her eyes and tried to breathe through the dizziness. She still felt sick, but she didn't think she could throw up any more if she tried. She rinsed her mouth again, not bothering to even try to drink water this time, and returned to her desk. Beckett sat down and cradled her aching head in her hands, overwhelmed by the thought of all the work she had to finish. She couldn't even work on mindless paperwork without sending herself to the bathroom. What would she do if she had to interrogate a suspect? Before she could think of an answer to this question, she felt a hand on her back. Castle, probably.

"Beckett," he said. "Go home."

"I don't have a home," she mumbled. Sure, she had been living at the hotel for several months, but that didn't make it a home.

"Hmm?"

"I said, I don't _have_ a home," Beckett repeated. Castle hadn't moved his hand. She felt like she ought to be bothered by this, but it was such a small thing in comparison to everything else that was bothering her at the time, and she had to admit, it _was_ kind of sweet. It would have been easy for Castle to jump ship and head home, or even to make fun of her in her sickness. But he hadn't.

"That's right..." said Castle quietly. "Beckett, where _are _you staying when you're not at the station? I know you can't be sleeping here every night, or there'd be boxes stacked on boxes for all your coats and scarves."

"Long term hotel rental," said Beckett. She didn't feel like going _there_. If she had a proper home to go to, maybe she would take Montgomery up on his offer to take a sick day. After all, fever or not, there was no denying at this point that by some definition or other, she was definitely sick. "I can't keep anything down," she admitted.

"I'm sorry." Castle squeezed her shoulder sympathetically.

"It's not your fault," said Beckett.

"You're always welcome at my house, you know," said Castle. "You can crash there for a few hours if you want."

"Oh Castle, I couldn't." Beckett suddenly felt nervous, though she couldn't explain why.

"Sure you could," he pressed on. "It wouldn't be an imposition. Alexis is at school and Mother... you don't have anything to worry about."

Beckett tried to be rational. She knew what Castle's apartment was like, and she knew it was luxurious and comfortable, and... it was his _home._ And she had met his family. They were a little – okay, a _lot_ – eccentric, but very friendly. After having worked with Alexis briefly the previous year, she'd been quite impressed with the high schooler's maturity. And Martha was crazy, but she had a big heart. She sighed. "Maybe you're right," she said. "Maybe I am too sick to work."

"You think?" Castle asked, with just the slightest trace of sarcasm. "You've only thrown up, what, three, four times?"

The damn writer was dead on. So much for trying to be discreet. "Something like that," she said evasively.

Castle extended his hand, offering to help her up. "Come on," he said. "Let's go."

"Just leave?" Beckett tried to remember the last time she had left in the middle of a shift. Surely she should at least check out with Montgomery or something.

"Ryan and Esposito can hold down the fort for one day," Castle assured her. "They'll be fine. Do you think you can make it through the cab ride home?"

Beckett imagined riding around Manhattan, weaving in and out of traffic. _Ugh._ "Do I have a choice?" she asked.

"Not unless you want to walk home," said Castle apologetically.

"Hell no," said Beckett. The only thing worse than being stuck in the back of a cab would be physical exertion.

"Then cab ride it is," said Castle. "Shall we bring a bucket, Beckett?"

In spite of the humorlessness of the situation, she almost laughed at his play on words. "I'd love to say no, but it's actually not a bad idea," she told him.

Castle then began looking around the office for a bucket or something resembling one. The closest he found was a small plastic wastebasket that was only holding a few old envelopes. He poured these into a larger wastebasket and brought the smaller one with them.

Out at the curb, they waited for a few moments for a taxi. Beckett leaned against the exterior wall of the building, awkwardly holding the wastebasket. She was so tired, _and_ still wearing heels. Now that she had decided to leave work and take a sick day, she couldn't wait to get to Castle's loft where she could sit down and not move for the rest of the day.

Soon Castle had hailed them a cab, and they were on their way. Driving definitely wasn't helping, and it wasn't long before Beckett started to feel the familiar lurching in her stomach. _Please, not in the car,_ she begged silently. _I've humiliated myself quite enough already._ Even as she thought this, she could feel Castle's eyes on her. _He's probably just concerned,_ she told herself. _He hasn't made fun of me yet._ Still, she didn't fancy getting sick in front of him. Again. She breathed deeply, praying that wouldn't happen.

"Are you okay?" he asked her.

"I don't know," Beckett admitted. She figured her stomach was empty enough that she wouldn't throw up easily, but she couldn't be sure. She definitely still felt nauseous – increasingly so as they kept driving.

"We're almost there," Castle said.

_Good_, Beckett thought. A few stoplights later, Castle asked, "You don't get carsick, do you?"

"No," said Beckett, even smiling a little. She thought back to a road trip to Myrtle Beach she had taken with her dad, shortly after she made detective, and how she had read Castle's early novels the whole way there. "This has nothing to do with carsickness," she promised.

Carsickness or not, she felt like hell by the time they finally got to Castle's building. She walked painstakingly slowly, baby step by baby step, into the foyer, taking care not to shake herself up any more than was absolutely necessary. They took the elevator, seeing as this was infinitely preferable to the countless flights of stairs. Still, the subtle motion of the elevator was almost too much.

_Shit_, Beckett thought, tightening her grip on the plastic wastebasket she was still carrying. The feeling of panic must have shown on her face, because Castle turned towards her, looking worried.

"Beckett?"

She shook her head. Her stomach hurt, clenching in on itself even as it threatened to explode. Though there was next to nothing in her stomach, she still needed to throw up. Instinctively she put a hand over her mouth, even knowing it was useless.

Just then, the elevator arrived at Castle's floor, and he put a hand on her shoulder and walked her to his loft. It seemed to take an eternity for him to unlock the door, and as soon as it was open, Beckett cast her eyes around furiously, looking for the bathroom, or at least a sink with a working garbage disposal.

"Castle, where's your—" she cut herself off, again clamping her hand over her mouth as she looked at him desperately.

He pointed in the direction of the bathroom, and she bolted. Yet as it turned out, she might as well have not bothered. As much as her stomach ached and twisted, there was absolutely nothing left in it. She heaved, straining her throat and her gut, but it made no difference. _There are few things more physically miserable than trying to throw up nothing_, she thought. In desperation, she stood up and walked to the sink, cupping her hands under the faucet to drink a little water, hoping it would give her something to bring up. It worked. No sooner had she finished swallowing than her stomach revolted and she spit up in the sink. Beckett stood there for a minute, clutching the edges of the counter. For just a second, she felt like she was going to faint. _Oh no,_ she thought. _Okay. Couch. Now._

Beckett walked somewhat unsteadily out of the bathroom and headed towards the couch. Her head was throbbing from the strain getting violently sick over and over. She walked slowly, although she wanted to get there as quickly as possible so she could sit down and rest.

"Can I get you anything?" Castle asked.

"No thanks," said Beckett. She just wanted to go to sleep and not think and not feel until she didn't feel sick anymore. She sat down on his couch, reveling in the comfort of being able to relax.

Castle sat down beside her. "You can just sleep here for a while if you want," he said, handing her a fleece blanket.

"Yeah. Okay," Beckett agreed. Sleep sounded wonderful. She only hoped she would be _able _to.

Castle left for a minute, then came back with his laptop and a glass of water, which he set on the coffee table. "I don't want you to get too dehydrated," he said. "Try just drinking a few sips."

Beckett raised the glass to her lips and pretended to drink it, but she didn't dare. Her stomach was much too upset, and now that she was curled up on the couch, the last thing she wanted to do was jump up and run for the bathroom. "Thanks," she said anyway, knowing Rick meant well. She set the glass back on the table and lay down, pulling the blanket over her shoulders. Castle tucked the blanket around her and rubbed her back. "Sleep well," he said. "And feel better."

"Mmhmm," said Beckett, already starting to drift off. She felt sick, but now peaceful. She was warm, comfortable, free of commitments, and being cared for. Sleep came quickly, and she was only dimly aware of the sound of Castle's fingers on the keys of his laptop.

However, not long after falling asleep, Beckett woke up again, triggered by the increasing pain in her head. Castle was probably right; she probably _was_ getting dehydrated. She pushed herself up and, and Castle looked up from his laptop.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," said Beckett back. She felt awful. Even in the short amount of time she had been asleep, her stomach had seemed to have replenished its supply of acid, and there was nothing else to dilute it. Hoping water would help, she took a drink, but this immediately proved to be a bad idea. Even as she swallowed, an air bubble tried to escape from her stomach, and to her horror, she threw up onto the floor.

"Oh my God, I'm _so_ sorry!" she cried, grabbing a handful of tissues from a box on the coffee table. She pushed off the blanket and knelt on the floor, trying to clean it up. It was useless, because the sudden movement only made her feel worse. She quickly covered her mouth, only to spit up into her hand.

She wanted to vaporize. She had thought she could humiliate herself no further, but clearly she had thought wrong. Castle had set aside his laptop and crossed over to her, which only heightened her feeling of shame. Her only comfort was that he knelt down _behind_ her, where he couldn't see her face. If not for the exhaustion, she would have felt like crying, not that that would help the situation in any way.

Castle had pulled back her hair. "It's okay," he said reassuringly.

_What's okay?_ Beckett thought. _My eventual long-term health? The fact that I just vomited on his surely very expensive floor? _She didn't say anything. Her stomach was churning and she felt like she would faint if she moved too quickly. She realized she was shaking. Without thinking, she leaned back into Castle's arms. He was sturdy; she wasn't.

"Ohh, I'm exhausted, Rick," she breathed, taking herself by surprise when she called him by his first name. It had just slipped out. Maybe it was being in his house; maybe her brain was addled from the sickness. Castle didn't notice, or at least he didn't react.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

Beckett nodded, though her answer was a complete lie. She felt Castle's hand pressed against her forehead.

"Hmm. I think you're right, you don't really feel warm," he said.

"Mmhmm," said Beckett. She knew that already. For all the nausea and dizziness, she didn't feel chilled or feverish.

"Are you done for now or do you want me to bring you that bucket?" Castle asked.

"I think I'm okay," said Beckett. She rested her head on her knees. "But you might as well bring it anyway."

"Okay," said Castle, then helped ease Beckett back on the couch. He brought back the bucket and a wet washcloth, and she grabbed the bucket from him, feeling another sudden wave of sickness. The room started spinning.

Castle held back her hair while she coughed up stomach acid into the bucket.

"Ow..." she groaned involuntarily. She almost expected to see blood.

When she had stopped getting sick, Castle picked up the wet washcloth and began to wipe down her hands.

"Castle! Stop!" said Beckett irritably, snatching the washcloth out of his hands. She turned away from him and finished cleaning her hands and face herself. "It's patronizing," she added.

"I'm sorry," said Castle, sounding a little hurt. With a couple of rags he had also brought back, he finished cleaning up the floor.

"I'm so sorry," Beckett said again. She straightened up and looked around for her purse. "I should go," she said.

Castle looked up from cleaning the floor and set down the rag. "Kate, don't be ridiculous," he said. "What good is _that_ going to do you?"

Beckett stared down at the floor. "Let me at _least_ finish cleaning up," she said, ignoring his question.

Castle shook his head. "You should be resting," he said. "And besides, you forget I was a college boy once. I could do this in my sleep."

Beckett smiled slightly, imagining Castle being nineteen and wasted, singing with slurred speech at the top of his lungs, no doubt. "Fine," she said. "I'm going to wash my hands."

She took her time standing up, not wanting to take any chances. She was still shaking. In the kitchen, she washed her hands thoroughly, enjoying the warm water on her skin, then splashed her face clean. When she got back to the living room, Castle had finished cleaning and was back to his laptop, typing away.

"Castle?" she asked, feeling shy and girlish all of a sudden.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks." She looked back at the floor, finding herself unable to meet his eyes. She sat down and sighed, resigning herself to the impossibly long day ahead of her.

Castle smiled. "Always."


	2. You Ain't Contagious

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: Surprise! I wrote all this ages ago, so it's already done! Cue speed-updating... **

Several hours later, Beckett awoke, sleepy and disoriented. Without opening her eyes, she listened to the hushed conversation around her, and remembered that she was at Castle's loft; lying on his couch, and recovering from an acute case of food poisoning. She took a few breaths, trying to gauge how she was feeling. Better than when she had laid down to go to sleep, but far from great. Slowly, she opened her eyes and sat up.

"I see you're alive," said Castle. "How do you feel?"

Beckett almost didn't hear him over the rush of blood in her ears that made her head pound, and the wave of dizziness that came soon after. She grimaced and held her head in her hands, squeezing her eyes shut against the light. Too bright. "Dizzy," she said.

"Try and drink some water," said Castle.

Beckett thought for a second, shifting her attention from her swimming, throbbing head to her stomach. Queasy, but nonviolent. Water stood a chance. She reached for the water, holding her other hand over her eyes to block the light. She took a couple careful sips of water, decided that was all her stomach could take for the moment, and set the glass on the table so she could rest her head in her hands again. The headache was threatening to jeopardize the fragile stability her stomach had recovered in the last few hours, or however long she had been asleep. She breathed deeply and stayed still, not wanting to get sick again.

"I'm sorry you're sick, detective."

Beckett started. It was Alexis this time – that must have been who Castle was talking to when she was half asleep.

"Oh, hi, Alexis," said Beckett. She would have looked up to meet the girl's eyes, but the light was still making her head hurt. "I'll be fine," she added, as much to herself as to Alexis.

"Indeed," Castle chimed in. She felt his hand meet her back again. He had done this so much that day that she had almost begun to get used to it – to like it, even. "And hey!" Castle continued. "You haven't thrown up in, what, three hours?"

"Don't hold your breath," said Beckett, hoping he hadn't jinxed it. She felt marginally better, but not out of the danger zone yet. She chanced another sip of water, hoping a little hydration would make her headache go away.

"Still not feeling well?" Castle asked.

Beckett shrugged. She most certainly did not, but Castle had already gone so far out of his way for her. He didn't need to know. Neither did Alexis. She knew the young girl looked up to her, and she hated to let her down. Beckett hoped Castle hadn't told Alexis everything.

"Kate," said Castle, leaning very close to her so only she could hear. "You don't have to be tough for us. It's just Alexis and me. If you're sick, you're sick. No reason to be embarrassed."

Beckett cringed, knowing once again he had seen right through her. It was impressive, if a little unsettling. "Castle," she groaned, not sure how to tell him off for being right.

"It's true," said Castle reassuringly. "Just relax. You can go back to sleep if you want."

"No," said Beckett. She didn't have any idea what time it was, but she didn't want to sleep all day and not be able to sleep through the night. "I wish I could take something for this headache, though."

"I can get you some ibuprofen," said Castle.

"No thanks. Probably not a good idea on a very, very empty stomach." She didn't dare.

"Good point," said Castle. "I think I learned that the hard way in the tenth grade." Beckett smiled, imagining a sick and inevitably dramatic fifteen-year-old Castle. "Anyway," he went on, "_is_ there anything I can do for you?"

"Not really," said Beckett. "I think I'll just have to wait it out."

"I suppose you will," Castle agreed. "Are you at least comfortable?"

"Yeah. I'm fine," said Beckett. She opened her eyes and leaned back into the couch cushions, noticing her blinking phone on the coffee table. She was starting to get adjusted to the light. "Oh," she said. "I have a text. It's Lanie."

"_Girl, I hope you've kissed him already after how sweet he's been,"_ the text read. "_After all, you said yourself you ain't contagious."_

Beckett couldn't help but laugh. Lanie could be so blunt sometimes. And yet she had _no_ idea.

"What did she say?" Castle asked.

"She says that..." Beckett faltered, feeling embarrassed. "Since I'm not contagious—"

"Don't tell me she wants you to come back to work!" Alexis interrupted. Beckett smiled. If only it had been that simple.

"No," said Beckett, trying to come up with a clever response to Lanie's bold suggestion. "She said..." she trailed off again.

The nine-year-old on a sugar rush in Castle made his appearance, and he grabbed Beckett's phone. Before she could stop him, he read the message, registered a look that was something like shock, slammed the phone closed, and handed it back to her. Beckett almost thought she had escaped, but then a curious Alexis joined the conversation.

"What did it say?" she asked.

Beckett looked at Castle, who looked at her. He looked excited to tell Alexis. Beckett stalled, which Castle took to be her consent, and blurted out, "Lanie says Beckett had better kiss me if she's spending all this time at my house."

This revelation had the intended effect on Alexis, who giggled like the schoolgirl she still was. "Well?" she prompted.

Castle and Beckett looked at each other again. Both were doubtful, very doubtful. But it was sort of fun teasing Alexis. Beckett pursed her lips, torn and more than a little nervous.

"I don't know, I don't reckon she would ahh, taste very good just now," said Castle, voicing a concern she hadn't even thought of. She knew she had done her best at cleaning her mouth out, but she certainly couldn't blame Castle for not wanting to kiss her. She certainly wouldn't want to kiss _him_ if the tables were turned.

"Thanks," she said sarcastically, mostly just to indulge the banter they had become so accustomed to.

"What?" said Castle. "It's true!"

"Lanie will be so disappointed," said Beckett teasingly, realizing the lighthearted conversation was a good distraction. She shook her head in mock regret, then flinched when it still made her head hurt.

"Alright, how about this?" said Castle. He leaned in close to her, so close she could smell him – God, he smelled good – then brushed her hair off her face and kissed her cheek. Beckett's heart pounded; far too much of her body responded to his closeness.

"Castle!" she exclaimed, a little shocked that he had gone so far, but more shocked that she had liked it. She had thought sure he wasn't going to go through with it, but she couldn't say she minded. Feeling suddenly hot, she grabbed the water and turned her back on Castle, waiting for her heart rate to calm down.

"Satisfied?" Castle asked Alexis.

"Satisfied," she confirmed.

_Thank goodness,_ Beckett thought. _If he had to pull any more stunts..._ _Well, I'd be able to control myself. Yeah._

"I didn't mean to embarrass you," Castle apologized, sensing her anxiety.

"It's okay," she said, not wanting him to think he had done something outright wrong. "You just kind of... took me by surprise."

Castle shrugged, with that "I'm guilty but you know that's just how I am" look that he wore so well.

. . .

Martha had taken Alexis to her fencing club practice, leaving Castle and Beckett alone. Castle was still writing, and Beckett was lying on the couch reading _Storm Rising_, one of Castle's earlier books, and watching him write the new one. The one that was sort of about her. It was a strange feeling. It did make her feel a little naked, just as the recent title suggested. But it also made her feel strangely honored. She had accomplished a lot in her ten years at the NYPD, enough for this writer – whose books had helped her come this far – to celebrate how far she'd come.

That was stupid. He wasn't celebrating anything. He was just... well, he was inspired. That in itself was an accomplishment, if she was inspiring the very person whose work had inspired her. It was a strange circle. It made her feel good, even if it was a little confusing.

She set the book down for a moment, as another pulse of the headache pressed against the inside of her skull. She sat up to take a drink of water, and almost made herself sick again, but swallowed hard, managing to keep the water from coming up. It had been close, though, and she took another small sip of water to wash the burning feeling down from her throat. _Not. Again,_ she ordered her body.

"You doin' okay?" Castle asked, looking up from his laptop.

"I think so," she said, taking another deep breath and a sip of water.

Castle gave her that look he'd been giving her all day – the look that clearly said he didn't believe her for a minute, and he was going to keep looking straight through her and end up doing something sweet that would make her forget to be mad at him for reading her mind.

"You still feel sick, don't you?" he said, kindly but bluntly.

"Yeah," she admitted. "I'll be fine though."

He raised his eyebrows as if to ask if she was sure.

Beckett lay down again, folding her hands behind her head. "Castle. I've been taking care of myself for years. I'm not dying. I'm just...not feeling well. There's no reason for you to be so concerned."

"I know you'll be fine," he said. "Kate, I'm not doubting your independence. You're probably the toughest woman I've ever met, and that's including my blood-sucking publisher ex-wife."

Beckett smiled slightly at this.

"But," Castle went on, "being tough doesn't mean you can't feel pain. And that pain doesn't make you anything less. Aside from that, I wouldn't be a very good friend if I didn't care about you and want to at least be there for you when you _do_ feel pain."

The smile faded. "Pain is getting shot, or hit by a car," said Beckett. _Or losing your mother_. "This is just food poisoning. Nothing to get all heroic and philosophical about."

She sensed Castle could tell he was fighting a losing battle. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm not trying to make you upset. I just don't want you to feel ashamed. Sickness is enough; you don't need guilt. You're not burdening me, and I definitely don't think you're weak for getting sick if that's what you're so worried about."

Beckett frowned, knowing he was right, and not knowing what to say.

"I'm not trying to be a hero, either," Castle added. "I just want you to know I care about you."

Beckett stalled by drinking more water.

"I wouldn't think any less of you if you were sick all week," Castle continued. "Although for your sake I certainly hope you aren't."

"Me too," said Beckett, snuggling under the blanket and picking the book up again, signaling that the conversation was over.


	3. It's Gonna Take a Lot

Most of the rest of the afternoon, Beckett read while Castle wrote, although she set the book down once in a while to rest her eyes. Once she even dozed off for a few minutes, and woke up to an empty living room. _Strange,_ she thought, thinking she couldn't have been out for long, and wondering where Castle had gone.

Meanwhile, Castle had gone upstairs with Alexis, who had wanted to show him something she had been working on for school. The beginnings of a poster were spread out on her floor, and she wanted his input on which pictures to include.

"What's the project about?" Castle asked her.

"Desertification and overgrazing in Africa," she told him. "It's terrible."

"It is," said Castle, as he started humming.

"What are you singing, Dad?" she asked, looking at him quizzically.

"You've never heard that song?" he asked, interrupting himself.

"No. What is it?"

Castle looked against, striking his chest with his open hand, feigning a heart attack. "Oh, that'll never do," he said. He dragged Alexis to his room, sifted through a box until he had found the old cassette he'd been looking for, and put it into the old tape player.

The song "Africa," by Toto came blasting through the speakers, and Castle enthusiastically sang along. Alexis eyed him skeptically.

"Okay, Dad," she said. "I'm going to go work on that poster now." She left the room, and Castle paid her no mind, carried away by the music.

While Castle was reconnecting with the 80s, Beckett was wandering the house, trying to find out where he had gone.

She found him right as he had launched into the chorus. She opened the door to his room, and found him twirling about and belting the song out at the top of his lungs.

"It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you!" he crooned. "There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do!"

Beckett raised her eyebrows. "Castle?" she said, eager for an explanation. "Castle! RICK!"

Finally he saw her, but didn't stop singing. Instead, he knelt down in front of her and continued the song, which had come around to the second chorus. Beckett found herself turning bright red, and she ran her hand through her hair and laughed, incredulous at his antics.

"Castle, what was that all about?" she asked when the song was finally over.

"Just the truth," said Castle with a mischievous grin.

. . .

Beckett hid her face behind _Storm Rising_, hoping Castle wouldn't notice her occasional outbreak of laughter. Since his singing telegram earlier, she couldn't get the song – or the image of him singing it – out of her head. Suddenly, the door to the loft opened, and Martha made her first dramatic entrance of the day.

"Hello!" Martha called as she swept into the room. "Now, what's this?" She looked over Castle and Beckett, presumably trying to imagine what they were doing. Beckett noticed Castle looked like he, too, had been in and out of sleep.

Martha pursed her lips. "This must be some case if you're falling asleep at this hour," she said. Seeing the copy of _Storm Rising_ in Beckett's hands, she turned to Castle and asked, "Is someone copying your murders again?"

"No," said Castle, "Although the crime scene _was_ pretty gruesome, so it might make it into a future book. Beckett's actually taking a sick day here." Martha's face registered a look of alarm, and she took a few steps back. Beckett sighed, looking down and feeling embarrassed. "Just food poisoning!" Castle cried. "And don't scare her away. I practically had to drag her out of the station."

"You weren't trying to _work_ like that, were you?" Martha asked, turning her attention to Beckett again.

"Well... I thought I could, but..." Beckett stopped, frowning. The rest of the story told itself – there she was, sitting on their couch. She closed the book and sat up straighter. "Sorry to show up without warning. Like Castle said—" she turned to glare at him— "he practically dragged me out of the station."

"Nonsense!" said Martha. "You rest here as long as you like, sweetheart. We'll take good care of you!"

"Oh, you don't have to do anything," said Beckett quickly, remembering painfully that Castle had gone so far as to clean her vomit off the floor a few hours ago. "Castle's done... more than enough already," she said, picking up the book again.

"Don't you worry!" said Martha. "That's just what mothers are supposed to do!"

Beckett's heart sank under the weight of her statement. Yes, mothers. Beckett's mother would never again be able to do such a thing, nor any other thing. Her chest ached with the longing to be enfolded in her mother's arms, and the ever-present knowledge that she would never feel that warm embrace again.

Sensing that she had touched a nerve, Martha tried something else. "Why, I remember, once, when Richard was just a boy – second grade, was it?" She gestured to Castle, seeking his agreement. Castle raised his eyebrows curiously, and Martha went on. "He got so sick at school, he tried calling me _thirteen times_ from the nurse's office –oh, you should have _heard_ the messages he left— but I was at a rehearsal! Finally they got a hold of someone at the studio, and of course I went to go pick him up, and he had hardly gotten in the car when—"

"Mother, is that_ really_ necessary?" Castle interrupted, looking mortified. "Beckett's been sick all day, the last thing she needs is to hear some story about my childhood sick days!"

Beckett smiled in spite of herself. Martha had not only changed the subject, but managed, against all odds, to level the playing field of dignity, or at least to take a chip off of Castle's pedestal. Feeling a rush of gratitude, she reached out and touched Martha's arm, looking her in the eyes. "Thank you," she said.

Martha smiled knowingly and went upstairs to greet Alexis. When she looked back at Castle, his expression had changed from embarrassment to utter bewilderment. Beckett shook her head. He wouldn't understand.


	4. Warmth

Later that evening, when Beckett was several chapters into _Storm Rising_, Castle took a break from writing to make some late dinner and say goodnight to Alexis. Beckett was surprised when the smell of food cooking didn't turn her stomach. That had to be a good sign. All the same, she appreciated that Castle did her the courtesy of eating in the kitchen. She set the book on the table, rubbing her eyes and yawning. It was amazing how little light it took to make her head hurt.

"How are you feeling?" Castle asked as he put the dishes in the sink.

"Okay," she said. "Still have a headache."

"Well... you haven't eaten anything all day. Obviously," said Castle. "Do you feel up to eating anything yet?"

Beckett briefly entertained the idea. She knew she was probably dangerously devoid of nutrients, and that was more than likely the source of the headache. Still, when she thought about actually eating food, it made her cringe. Nope. Not yet. "Not really," she told him. "I think I could keep down tea now though." _God, I hope I'm right._

"I'll make you some," said Castle, opening the cabinets. "What kind would you like? We have black tea, earl grey, peppermint, herbal spice, ginger..."

"Ginger," said Beckett, remembering someone had once mentioned it being good for nausea, which certainly seemed like a desirable property that day.

"You got it," said Castle, and he filled a kettle with water and put it on the stove.

Beckett leaned back against the couch and closed her eyes, drinking in the warmth of her surroundings, and trying to decide what she should do. It was late. Little Castle and Hurricane Martha were in bed, and Big Castle was surely about to follow. He had changed into pajamas at some point. Beckett felt like she had probably overstayed her welcome a long time ago. What she _should_ do, she reasoned, was ask him to call her a cab, and she would go back to her hotel and try to sleep off the pounding headache, and hope she didn't throw up again in the middle of the night. _I probably won't_, she thought. _These things rarely last _that_ long..._

But what she wanted to do... it would be so easy to just curl up on this couch she'd been sitting or lying on most of the day anyway, and stay the night there. She knew where the bathroom was, and the loft was warm – not just because of the heater, but the colors on the wall and the people inside the house. They gave it a different kind of warmth, one she wasn't going to find at the hotel no matter how high she turned up the heater. No, she wouldn't be warm like that at the hotel room. She sighed, weighing her options – privacy and perhaps a shred of dignity (if it wasn't completely gone already), or the warmth and comfort of Castle's loft... which would also mean she wouldn't have to walk out in the cold, ride in elevators, take a cab... she ran a hand through her tangled hair, feeling torn and anxious.

Before she could decide anything, Castle came back with her tea, as well as a plate of crackers. "If you're up for it," he said, nodding towards the plate and setting it down.

Beckett took a drink of the tea, feeling warmed from the inside out. It felt good, which was encouraging. She looked doubtfully at the crackers, debating whether she should risk it. "What the hell," she decided, picking up a cracker and taking a tiny bite of it. _So far so good_, she thought as she swallowed, then took another drink of tea. Castle was watching her, just as anxious to see how it would go as she was.

"I think I'm okay," she reported.

"I didn't ask," said Castle.

"Well, you were _not_ _asking_ very loudly."

Castle smiled, and said nothing more while Beckett agonizingly nibbled through the cracker, one molecule at a time. It must have been almost entertaining to watch, she imagined.

"Beckett?" Castle asked sheepishly, hands in his pockets and shoulders shrugged up. Beckett looked up at him, stifling a smile as the image of him as a young child admitting to stealing candy popped up in her mind. She met his eyes, waiting for him to ask whatever it was he wanted to ask.

"You can stay here, you know," he said. "It's late. Probably freezing," he added, nodding to the raindrops on the windows. "I'd hate for you to have to take a cab home at this hour when you're sick."

_You said it, not me_, Beckett thought. Still, she didn't want to seem too eager. "I told you, I don't have a fever," she said. "The weather's not going to make any difference." While this was true, she would still much rather stay here, warm, than go out there and make her way home in the cold. She just didn't want Castle to see that.

"I know," he said, sitting down on the couch next to her. "But you'd still be much more comfortable staying here than going out there. And my bed _is_ a king size."

Beckett froze. That hadn't been what she'd meant at all. That was _way_ too far out of her comfort zone. He'd been very sweet to her all day, but he had gone far enough. "No way," she said. "No. I can't sleep with you."

"Not _sleep with me_, sleep with me," said Castle, sounding like an apologetic high school boy. Beckett was sure she'd heard at least one hormone-driven boy tell her that in the back of a car before. "Just... sleep," Castle went on. "I'll stay on my side. I won't bother you. Promise." He held his hands up to show his supposed innocence.

Beckett sighed. Could he _possibly_ be telling the truth? Was he really looking out for her, or did he just want an excuse to get closer – too close – to her?

"Come on, Kate," he said. "You know you don't want to go out there."

"Oh, that's it," she said definitively, deciding his motivations couldn't possibly be pure. She stood up, intending to walk out and brave the cold that very moment. It didn't quite work out that way, since she was still undernourished and lightheaded, and she found herself sitting down again quite suddenly. She took a deep breath, waited for the dizziness to pass, and drank some more tea.

"Can I ask you something?" Castle asked when she set the cup down.

"What, Castle?" she asked irritably. Under any other circumstance, she would have successfully walked out, maintained her independence, and gotten out of there. She was frustrated by the incapacitation, and his apparent ulterior motives only made her feel more degraded.

"Why the stone wall?" he asked. "I know you trust me... at least to a reasonable extent," he added when she looked at him in utter disbelief. "I've never tried to take advantage of you, and I know full well if I did, you could – and probably would – shoot me. So what are you trying to protect yourself from?"

Beckett bought time by trying to eat another cracker. "I just don't want to overstay my welcome," she said, intentionally avoiding addressing his assertion that he _wasn't_ trying to take advantage of her.

"You and I both know that isn't true," said Castle. "You're scared. I just want to know why."

_God damnit, is he ever wrong?_ Beckett wondered. Then she wondered what, exactly, it _was_ that she was scared of. She couldn't deny that she was scared, but... "I'm not scared of anything," she said, sounding much more defensive than she had intended.

Castle looked at her piercingly. She knew he didn't buy it.

"Can we not do this right now?" she asked, resting her hand in her hand. Arguing with him was doing nothing good for her headache.

Castle raised his hands again. "You can leave if you want, Detective," he said. "I'm not stopping you. I'm just saying – Tempur-Pedic mattress, down comforter, 800 thread-count sheets... I can make you coffee in the morning." He smiled that smile that had that uncanny way of stripping her defenses. Beckett imagined the scenario – falling asleep in the warm, soft bed, waking up feeling like a million bucks compared to today, drinking coffee and heading back to work... it was a nice fantasy. She wondered if it had any chance at playing out. She certainly hoped she would feel better in the morning. She was beyond frustrated at being so sick she was unable to function. One day was more than enough.

"Fine," she conceded. "But if you tell _anyone_, especially at the precinct, I _will _make good on that promise to shoot you." She had to say _something_ to maintain the illusion of control.

"Good choice," said Castle. "Can I interest you in something more comfortable to sleep in? A tee shirt? Some sweat pants, perhaps?"

"Um... yeah," said Beckett, realizing as she pushed back the blanket that she'd been in her work clothes all day. "Yeah, that sounds good."

"Do you want to take a shower or anything?" Castle asked.

"I'll take a shower in the morning," said Beckett. "Maybe _after _I go back to my hotel for a change of clothes before work."

"You think you'll be ready to go back to work tomorrow?"

"I hope so," said Beckett, bracing herself on the arms of the couch as she stood up. "I was right in the middle of the case... which reminds me, I never got around to asking you if Lanie had found anything..."

"She did," said Castle, his face lighting up. "I guess I just forgot to tell you, what with you feeling all miserable and everything."

"Well?" Beckett prompted, eager to think about work and not about the present.

"As of when I left, she was still pretty sure the cause of death was the blunt force trauma to the head, but she still needed to do some more tests. There were metal fragments in her skull, which she sent to forensics – per my suggestion – and those fragments were not in the abdominal wounds... her killer seems to have added those _after_ he killed her. Time of death was between five and six A.M. She also ID'd her as Penny Albright, and found a next of kin. Montgomery made the call."

Beckett had to admit, she was impressed. She had sent Castle to see Lanie over twelve hours ago, and he'd surely been thinking of all sorts of other things since then. "Thanks, Castle," she said. She remembered deciding to call him earlier that day when she had been trying to choose an outfit when all she wanted to do was vomit. She had been right to ask for his help – not that he needed to see it like that. "I wish I had my murder board here," she added, trying to organize the information in her head.

"I'll still remember it in the morning," said Castle. "And if I know you, you'll remember it too."

He was right about that much.

"Come on, Kate, let's go to bed," he said. He stood next to her and put his hand on the small of her back, leading her towards the stairs.

Beckett felt her stomach drop, this time from adrenaline. _Oh God, I'm really doing this_, she thought. _What am I getting myself into?_ She tried to count how many times he'd called her "Kate" that day, and couldn't put a number on it. Moreover, she'd caught herself doing the same thing. _It's nothing,_ she told herself. _I'm just sleeping here because it's comfortable and I don't feel like taking a cab back to my hotel. That's all. _All the same, she couldn't help but feel comforted by Castle's hand on her back.

Castle seemed to sense this, because he asked her, "When's the last time you let someone take care of you when you were sick?"

Beckett didn't remember. Probably high school. She was usually very healthy, so there weren't many opportunities for such a thing, anyway. Even if there had been, it had been a long time since she'd let anyone get that close to her. Why him? "I don't know," she said eventually.

"Well, that's no good," said Castle, turning them to his bedroom. "All the more reason you did the right thing coming here today."

_Is it?_ Beckett sat on the edge of the bed, unsure what to do next. "I guess so," she said.

Castle pulled some flannel pajama pants and a tee shirt out of his dresser and handed them to her. "I don't know how well they'll fit, but they should be fine for sleeping in."

"Right," said Beckett, looking around for a place to change. "Is there a bathroom up here?"

"You can change in here," said Castle.

Beckett glared at him, surprised at his audacity.

"I'll leave, I'll leave, sheesh, no need to panic!" he said.

Beckett sighed in relief as he left the room and closed the door behind him. She changed into the pajamas and climbed into bed, then told him he could come back in. He turned out the lights, then crawled into bed next to her. Beckett felt another surge of adrenaline. _Yep, I'm really doing this. Oh man. It's just a place to sleep. Nothing more._ She breathed deeply, waiting for her heart to listen to her head.

"Beckett?" said Castle.

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, hoping he couldn't hear her heart beating, or see it through her chest, for that matter.

"Good," said Castle. "You let me know if you need anything, okay?"

"Yeah," said Beckett stiffly. She turned her attention to his bed. It was every bit as luxurious as he had described.

Castle leaned over head and tucked the blankets in around her. "Castle!" she exclaimed, intending to tell him off, but stopping short when she felt his warmth.

"Goodnight, Beckett," he said. He brushed her hair out of her face and gave her a hug.

His sudden closeness brought back a memory she had been trying to put a finger on for the last five minutes, and she felt tears spring into her eyes against her will.

"What's wrong?" Castle asked her, pulling back. "Did I do something wrong?"

Beckett shook her head. On the contrary, she wished he was still holding her. She didn't have a clue how to tell him that without explaining herself. In what felt like a moment of temporary insanity, she rationalized that he had already seen her pretty close to her worst. What difference would it make at this point?

"You asked me when the last time was that someone took care of me like this." She bit her lip, realizing it was too late to change her mind. "I couldn't remember until now, but..."

Castle nodded, and put his hands firmly on her shoulders again, yet kept some distance between them.

"It was my mom," Beckett said, tearing off the band-aid. "I think I was about fifteen the last time I was sick like this. She did... everything you did today – she took me home from school, made me tea, made sure I drank enough water... cleaned up after me." She paused, her heart beating rapidly. She was nervous to admit the obvious. "I miss her."

Castle took a moment before responding. "I know no one can ever replace your mother," he said slowly. "And you'll probably always miss her. And when you're this sick, I don't think you're ever too old to need comfort like that. I hope I did an alright job of standing in."

Beckett sniffed. "You did fine. And you're right, Castle. I do need it."

"Your secret's safe with me," said Castle, squeezing her once more before moving to his side of the bed, as promised.

She smiled, relieved that he was following through with his promise, even if she did secretely wish to share his warmth. "Goodnight," she said, closing her eyes and letting sleep overtake her.

. . .

She dreamed that they were tracking down a violent, unpredictable, gun-slinging suspect, and they had just arrived at the scene. The man was coming down the stairwell, firearm in hand, and as she stepped out of the car, she realized how sick she still was. Trying to muscle through it, she unholstered her own gun and followed him. Castle was close behind her, and to her dismay, he wasn't wearing his Kevlar.

She faltered for a moment as her stomach churned and her breath caught. In the split second of hesitation, Castle had run ahead of her, and the suspect took his shot. Castle hit the pavement and began to bleed out, and as much as she wanted to run to him, she was paralyzed with sickness and couldn't move.

As the killer was about to turn on her, she woke up with a start, sitting up abruptly. Her immediate instinct was to reach for her phone and call to make sure Castle was alright, but then she remembered she was at his house – in his bed, no less. She turned to her right and saw that he was awake and looking concerned. She meant to apologize for waking him up, but it came out, "Thank God you're okay!"

"Yeah, just fine," he said, his look of concern turning to one of bewilderment. "What's the matter, Kate?"

"Nothing," she said, shaking her head. "It was just a dream."

Castle didn't look convinced. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"Mmhmm," she said. She felt much better than she had all day, although she was incredibly thirsty. She swung her legs around and started to get out of bed.

"Where are you going?" Castle asked.

"Just to get a glass of water," she said.

"No, no, I'll get it for you," said Castle, getting up. "Lie down."

"Oh." Beckett stopped, then shifted back under the blankets. "Thanks."

He came back a minute later with a glass of water, which Beckett took and sipped slowly. She breathed a sigh of relief when it made her feel better and not worse.

"What was the dream about?" Castle asked as she drank the water.

She sighed. She was hoping he wouldn't ask. "It's not important," she said, snuggling back into bed.

"It _sounded_ pretty important," Castle countered.

"I—I can't," she said. It was too personal, and she didn't want him to make too much of it. Or perhaps she was making too little of it.

"Beckett?" he looked at her with the sincerest concern. In spite of the dark, she could tell, even though all she could see was his bright blue eyes.

She looked down, playing with her hands. "You got killed," she said, feeling both terrified and relieved at saying it out loud.

"Oh," said Castle. He clearly hadn't been expecting that. "Well. It was just a dream. I'm fine."

"Yeah," said Beckett quietly.

"How are you feeling?" Castle asked, changing the subject.

"Better," she said. She was still tired and had traces of the headache, but her stomach had finally settled. She took another drink of water, grateful to be able to do so without worrying about it.

"That's good," said Castle. Neither of them seemed to know what else to say. They sat there in the dark, avoiding each other's eyes, but putting off going back to sleep for reasons neither of them could explain. After several minutes, without words, they lay down to go back to sleep, but they lay closer. Castle put his arm around Beckett, and she didn't fight it. His bed was luxurious and comfortable, but his warmth was sublime.


End file.
